“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished,—many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,—and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites.
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